The Garden of Eden
by BookishTea
Summary: The year is 1949 and a young man by the name of Kyle Broflovski is currently living in the great city of Chicago, there he struggles to keep himself afloat from crippling debt. To do this he has found himself working at the infamous night club, the Garden of Eden, where he tries not to sink into sinful pleasure that would be sure to damn anyone.
1. The First Step

The year was 1949, the world was still reeling from a massive war while somehow on the cusp of greatness. Buildings were being rebuilt and people were climbing back onto their feet, shaking the dirt and grime off as they went on with what they could scavenge of their lives.

Amongst their mists was Kyle Broflovski, a young man of Jewish descent. His family had been one of the lucky ones to escape Europe early on, making a new home in the mountain range state of Colorado, specifically in a sleepy town with hardly any roads that led nowhere of importance.

As soon as Kyle turned twenty, he travelled across the country until he settled in Illinois. Here he's buried deep in debt from law school, currently he's trying to have enough money to eat and pay his overdue bills. But to do that you need a job, so that is what he's gotten.

* * *

Thunder roared above the city of Chicago with stormy clouds that angrily churned, twisting the night sky into knots large enough to make any Boy Scout proud.

While rain poured from the heavens with the ferocity to kill, a lean figure hurriedly dashed from the waves of cars driving past, and to a brick building connected to an old theatre. It wasn't announced by a simple name, but rather a neon sign of a bitten apple. There was no need, everyone knew this was the infamous night club, _Garden of Eden_.

Only those with enough cash in their wallets or notoriety were gained entrance to the club, which was a slim amount of people.

That is precisely where hunger pained Kyle Broflovski is going, for it is his first day on the job.

Slipping through the crowd of people that lingered along the club's front doors, impatiently waiting for it to open for the night, Kyle quickly made his way to the alleyway that separated this building from the others.

Squelching was heard throughout the filthy passage, the sound of sodden leather shoes hitting cobblestone as he raced to the back of the club. Standing outside by the heavy metal door was a burly man, uncaring of the weather as he lavishly smoked from a cigarette. As soon as Kyle was close enough, a deep rumbling of rocks clanking together met his ears. It took him a second to realize it was the man's voice, grumbling out the question, "You that new kid?"

Panting from the excursion of running straight from his apartment, Kyle struggled to get his voice back under control. Thankfully the nameless man waited, far more content letting tendrils of smoke escape his lips and curl into the air.

"K-Kyle Broflovski, I'm here about the waitering job?"

Nodding his assent, the large man offered a hand towards Kyle, big enough to easily cover his head. Heart just starting to slow its anxious pace, Kyle shook the man's hand until he was led inside.

Thankful to escape the cold, Kyle found himself to be standing inside a small room. Every corner was stacked high with unmarked boxes, each feeling as if it were to come crashing down anytime on unsuspecting victims. There was three other people in the room, each hunched around a fireplace as they rubbed their hands together.

Noticing his arrival, a young woman dressed as a maid turned to greet him.

"I'm guessing you're Mr. Broflovski? I'm Jacqueline, but feel free to call me Jack."

Jacqueline was rather plain, a person that could easily get lost in a crowd for not being remarkable in anyway. If it were for not one thing, her eyes. They were the same dull shade of brown as her hair, but what had Kyle fixated was how expressive they were. Immediately he felt at ease around Jack, unconsciously relaxing his shoulders as he smiled.

"Thank you, Jack. If it's alright with you, I prefer Kyle." Curious, he eyed the rest of room's inhabitants.

One was a short man with blonde hair neatly brushed back, appearing rather sullen as he stared into the flames licking at the fireplace grate. He made no move to greet Kyle, so the latter was content with ignoring him.

Finally there was one other man, similarly dressed like the sulking man in the same light blue suit. He was quick to straighten himself and head over, eager to shake Kyle's hand with an excited grin.

"Nice to meet you, Kyle. My name is Robert. Ignore James over there, he's forgotten his manners over some call girl."

"Take it back, Robbie! She isn't some call girl!" James bellowed, quick to cross the room.

"Fine, she's a floozy!"

Just as Kyle thought a brawl would break out, Jack pushed herself in between them, trying to calm James down with comforting words. Which didn't seem to be working all that well, so the still nameless man intervened, pushing James further and further across the room with a hand to the chest.

Screamed curses directed towards him, Robert turned from the furious James and gently ushered Kyle out of the room. The pair ended up walking beside each other as they headed down a long and winding corridor, where the carpet underfoot transformed into a deep burgundy shade with golden trim along the sides.

After an awkward bout of silence, Robert cleared his throat, "Sorry about that, not much of an introduction."

Kyle shrugged, "Not the worse I've gotten. Is it always like this?"

Robert snorted, lazy grin slow to creep onto his face, "Nah, you caught us on a good day." He loudly chuckled as he watched Kyle miss a step from the declaration, bewildered expression causing the other to shake with laughter.

Suddenly they were walking up a staircase until they came to a landing with a curtain blocking a door frame, pushing past it, Kyle was led into another hallway that was considerably warmer than before. The walls were painted grey, and movie posters hung in a straight line down the length of the hallway.

"Since we haven't opened yet, I'll give you a little summary of the club's layout. These hallways are separate from the rest of Garden of Eden's more docile guests, notice all the doors?"

Kyle nodded, much like a hotel the walls were lined with closed doors, and it didn't take a genius to realize what they were for.

"Well as the club's saying goes: Nothing is forbidden as long as you got the cash."

Past this hallway they came upon another closed door which led to a spacious room, a place where the light sound of instruments being strung floated. There was several long tables devoted to gambling, and a small bar that was tucked into the back.

"The band is warming up." Robert explained, nodding to the far corner of the room where a thick crimson curtain hung.

"It gets kind of tricky here, and you'll soon find yourself switching from a door host, busser, cocktail server, valet, and everything else under the sun. You're new, so you'll be expected to do little chores for the senior staff members. You getting all of this?"

Nodding, Kyle eyed the room once more before the pair became startled by the curtain being brushed aside so a head could peer in.

"Can I borrow him?"

Robert rose a brow at the face of a pretty maid, "Already? We aren't even done the tour yet."

"Callie needs something, and you know how she gets."

Eyes darting between the two, Kyle watched as Robert heavily sighed before he nodded. Turning back to the Kyle, he gave him an apologetic smile, "We'll have to continue this later, for now you'll be staying close by Sally. Speaking of which, make sure to give him a suit, he can't be seen like that."

Bristling with the comment, Kyle bit his tongue to keep from hurdling an insult at the other man. Thankfully the bustle of the club had him quickly distracted, as Sally was frantic to walk him to the staff bathrooms and shove a suit into his arms. They would have one tailored to his measurements, so until then Sally had borrowed a valet named Fred's uniform.

It was a size too big and smelled of gasoline, something that had Kyle nauseous as he donned the suit. Clutching his soaked clothing in his arms, Kyle eyed the mirror that hung above the bathroom's sink.

He looked like complete shit, bags under his eyes from stress and the lack of sleep he'd been getting. His wet hair was slowly air drying, meaning his russet curls were becoming an unmanageable jungle mess. And his usually healthy tan skin had turned a sickly shade of white from the cold weather, which made his body break out into shivering bouts every other second.

"What have you gotten yourself into." he mumbled to his reflection.


	2. Such A Tease

It was a strange situation to be in, or he certainly thought it was. Holding a tray of a small chocolate cake and a glass of red wine as he stared at the golden star painted onto the door, written under it on a plaque was the name Calypso.

Glancing down at the tray in his hands, Kyle kept a steady grip as he used his shoe to tap at the wood of the door. Mindful as he did so that the crimson liquid inside the expensive glass goblet sloshed along the edges, threatening to erase the illusion of sophisticated cleanliness.

"Come in." A husky voice drawled.

Tucking the metal dishware closer to his chest, one hand darted to open the door by twisting its knob, before quickly managing to righten the precious object before any of the dessert fell.

Kyle blew out a small sigh of relief, thankful that everything was in order as he caught the edge of the open door with the point of his right shoe. If anyone were to see what happened next, they would be sure to marvel at the feat the young waiter accomplished. Of course no one was in the hallway when it happened, so the event remained secret.

Yanking the door back with his foot, Kyle was granted enough time to hurriedly enter Calypso's room before it fluidly followed him to a close.

* * *

The first thing that was noticed was the scent, a sultry combination of cigarette smoke, vanilla, and something dark with a primal edge.

It made his nose twitch as his mouth became dry, it certainly piqued someone's interest, like an untold secret that plucked at the banks of your thoughts.

The next sense that became teased was Kyle's sight, his brows knitted together as his eyes struggled to take in everything.

With walls painted a dark pine, everything was wrapped in golden undertones that immediately caught one's eyes. Every available space seemed to be covered in piles of bottles, sheets of sparkling fabric, and perfume scented papers. Though it was hard to ignore the chaotic mess of the room, Kyle froze at the sight before him.

Perched before a vanity on a stuffed chair, a woman perhaps his own age powdered her skin with some pale dust. At the sound of his entry, she spun around to face him with a smirk.

She was a few inches taller than him, something that came to a shocking realization. Kyle had always been used to being the tall one in the room, a characteristic he had in common with his father. And along with being the taller of the pair, everything about this woman was unusual.

She was chubby, the skin of her soft legs just as pale as her moonlight kissed face. Though any girl Kyle met seemed self conscious about their weight, this woman showed no hindrance.

Instead she flaunted every additional curve to her, bearing with an air of reassurance. Speaking of which…

Kyle blushed before he quickly glanced away, he hadn't realized her state of undress when he had entered.

Her slip was a rosy shade, hidden only by the silk housecoat hanging lazily from her shoulders, which sheer fabric did little to make her modest.

"You must be the new blood." the woman crooned, placing her makeup to the side as she climbed to her feet and made her way over.

Wordlessly Kyle stared at her frilled stockings as she eventually stood before him, more specifically the skin between the black fabric and her slip. He gulped, feeling rather hot as his eyes darted away to the dark set that watched his every movement with glee.

"Yes, ma'am. My name is Kyle Broflovski, and I take you're Calypso?"

Humming under her breath, Calypso nodded as she gently took the tray from Kyle's grip and placed it on a nearby table. But not before plucking one of the blackberries from top of the cake, and popping it into her mouth. She paused, savouring the bittersweet taste of the tart fruit with a small moan. Her eyes slid over to his, holding his gaze as her licked at her lips painted a bold shade of crimson.

Kyle cleared his throat, face warming as he took a step back towards the door.

"I...I should be getting back to work."

"Should you now?" Calypso quickly crossed the room at the sight of the other's flight, stilling his movements by clasping on the cuff of his sleeve.

With a strength that surprised Kyle, she tugged him back towards her.

And to this day he isn't sure how it happened, but the next thing he knew his back was pressed against a dresser, warm body flush against his.

Calypso forced him further against the wood, until the knobs on the furniture drawer's dug into his spine. Gripping Kyle's chin, her silver fingernails had him staring into her heady eyes.

"Are you sure?" she whispered, deep voice suddenly husky as her face came a lot closer to the aspiring lawyer.

If Kyle moved just a fraction he could have kissed, and was startled by the rushing desire to do so. The sweet smell of Calypso's breath over his face, the recently eaten blackberry, had him shivering.

Words caught in his dry throat, Kyle struggled to form any coherent thought. The feeling of a warm body against his own, draped in such revealing and thin lingerie had him fumbling.

"I..."

Just as his mouth opened, Calypso pounced. Hungrily her lips attacked his, with enough desire and fervour that Kyle's legs turned into melted butter, only being held up by the hold of the other's arms.

Kyle wasn't stupid, he knew he should be pushing this young woman away and return back to work. But the skilled lips against his own left him with no objections, nor when a large hand inched between them towards his trouser, popping its buttons with ease.

He gasped as soon as Calypso's mouth left his, soon biting along his neck. Raising the hairs on his arms from her teeth against flesh, it became coupled together with goosebumps.

A knock hammered on the dressing room door, loud enough to have Kyle jolting with a mortified expression. Calypso rolled her eyes, snickering as she answered the sound with an annoyed, "What?"

"Everything's set, Callie."

Calypso sighed, stepping back so she could drag an utterly confused Kyle by the elbow and usher him to the door. Opening it with an inch with a spare hand, she glared at the owner of the worried voice.

"I'll be there in a minute." She shut the door before the other person could respond, turning back to Kyle with a wink.

"I have my own work to do, but by midnight I'll be on the stage. I expect you to be there."

"But I-"

Calypso hushed him by placing a finger against Kyle's lips, raising a brow until he remained silent.

"Consider it a welcome to our sinful home, Mr. Broflovski." Releasing him, Calypso opened the door once again. This time he was shoved through without a care, and with enough force to be left sprawling on his ass.

With the door then coming to a shut, Kyle sat there for a few moments, flustered and disheveled.

* * *

"There you are!"

"I-" Kyle twisted around from his position, scurrying to stand on his feet as he faced a furious Sally.

"How long does it take to drop off some cake and wine?"

Clearing his throat, Kyle jabbed his thumb in the direction of Calypso's door, unsure if he should convey what happened to him mere moments before. That the club's talent had her tongue in his mouth, leaving him a mess, something that has never happened before.

But it seemed like he didn't need to say anything, Sally's eyes raked over his form with a knowing nod. Eventually she said, "Callie got her hands on you did she?"

Blushing, Kyle mumbled out "Yes", unable to meet the other's gaze.

Cocking her hip to the side, Sally frowned at him as she fished a small compact mirror she always carried in her apron's front pocket.

"It's unusual that she'd claim someone so quickly, she tends to prefer some playing first." She handed the mirror to him, watching as Kyle opened it and observed his appearance.

"Shit" he groaned, tilting his neck to see it from every angle. He looked like he had been mauled, with love bites donning his neck, which had already started to bruise at an alarming rate. To make things even worse, a familiar shade of crimson lipstick mingled together.

He scrubbed at it, which made it smear until his hand as well as neck were stained. Any further then he'd be able to pass as a painting, subject: _Waiter Gets Consumed by Lust_

Sally sighed, as darting down once before meeting his eyes once again, "Looks like you'll have to go to the bathroom, again. This time though, please be sure to take care of _that_ before you venture out."

Kyle cleared his throat, following Sally back to the bathrooms. Silently he buttoned up his trousers once again, the whole time being aware that his pants had gotten tighter since he left that dressing room. As the pair strolled down the hallway, he swore he heard laughter echo.


	3. The Private Viewing

The sigh coming from Kyle was heavy with exhaustion, which mingled with the equally tired dragging of feet. He had just come off his shift, the crack of dawn just beginning to illuminate the city.

Making sure to lock his front door behind him, Kyle didn't even bother with the lights. Already starting to unbutton his jacket, and unclasping his belt. As soon as he was in his bedroom, he tossed the shrugged garment and unwound strip of leather onto a nearby chair.

Grunting as he hunched over to slip his dirty shoes off, Kyle couldn't help the loud yawn that escaped his lips. Not bothering with his socks and changing into his sleepwear, Kyle simply plopped himself onto his bed.

Pain jabbed itself into his left side, the acute sensation against his ribs. Groaning at the annoyance of it, Kyle rolled over to avoid the mattress spring. On his back, he found himself staring at the blankness of his barely visible ceiling.

Exhaustion washed upon him in crushing waves, and yet sleep was evaded. He was too high strung, work at the Garden of Eden had been both emotionally and physically stressful. And there was only one thing that Kyle could think of that would offer a solution to his problem.

Yawning one final time, Kyle unzipped his trousers. Hooking the layers of both his pants and underwear with his thumbs, he pulled it down past the dip of his hipbones. And after pondering it for a second, he decided to just wiggle both of the garments off to his ankles, where he simply kicked them, having them sail through the darkness of his bedroom and fall in a clustered pile on the floor.

Instinctively he gripped his flaccid cock, stroking it idly as he remembered what had happened during the remainder of his night shift.

* * *

"I'm guessing you're Kyle?"

"Yes?" He paused his movements of mopping, some drunkard had spilled his beer all over himself and the floor. Kyle was just thankful that he wasn't cleaning up the trail of vomit the man also left, some other unfortunate staff member was assigned to that.

"You're needed in the main room, there's some glasses that need to be gathered."

"Can't you do it? I still have this." Kyle gestured to the mop in his hand, frowning when the nameless man before him shook his head.

"That's why I'm here, I'm taking over for you."

Resigned with the idea of not finishing a task, Kyle begrudgingly handed the mop over and made his way to his new job.

As he wandered the hallways towards the entertainment section of the building, the sound of instruments being played in cool sweeps of jazz beckoned him.

The room was dim, there was no lights present besides the candles upon the table tops, and the small bloom like fixtures that were strung along the lip of the stage.

The only thing that reinforced the idea that there was other people in the room, was the candlelight that cast the image of shadowy figures slightly shifting to either take a drink from their glasses, or another puff from their cigarettes.

The majority of the crowd of customers were gone, leaving only the higher clientele to remain for this private viewing. The band had their instruments purring in sweet seductive tones, quiet at first, until the pounding of the drums built up the anticipation.

With a thunderous roar the curtains were peeled back, revealing a lone figure silhouetted by the amber glow of the lights.

Wordlessly Kyle ducked over to an empty table with glasses, which he picked one up of before he paused. Then it came back to him, heart pounding in his ears, he glanced down to his wristwatch. He could barely make it out, relying on his table's candle, but it was eventually evident what the time was.

It had just struck midnight.

Suddenly her words came back to haunt him, _consider it a welcome to our sinful home, Mr. Broflovski._

It was as if the world had vanished besides himself and this mysterious performer, even the music appeared to be some distant sound, muffled to his ears as her act began.

Enticed by the sound of the decadent music, she took a step forward, closer to the crowd. At the movement beams of light appeared, their location unknown, even when Kyle glanced towards the rafters for any conductors.

The light was just enough to show her body, the rest was concealed in the darkness of the room.

She was heavier than the majority of the girls working at the club, wearing a beige trench coat that almost reached her feet. From the gap between her burgundy high heels and the bottom of the coat, flashes of black covered the thick legs.

 _Those could go on forever_ , Kyle thought with a gulp. Just imagining what possibly lurked underneath.

Swinging her hips to the crooning sound of the music, slowly Calypso began to pop open the clasps of her coat. No one dared to say a word, far too enraptured to think of simple things like talking, or the process of breathing.

It seemed an eternity before the trench coat was finally opened, revealing the rest of her wardrobe as the outerwear was shrugged from broad shoulders. Letting it fall to the stage floor, Calypso rested a hand on her waist.

Her chemise was the same shade as her shoes, a silken burgundy that drew attention to the curve of her chest and hips. It was enough to leave everyone with dry mouths, especially when her spare hand drifted up her torso, fingers trailing the fabric with feather like touches until they reached her left breast. Squeezing it hard enough to have a gasp from one of the customers, someone Kyle couldn't find within the room.

She turned around until her back faced the crowd, slow enough to mercilessly tease everyone. Clutching the edges of her chemise, she lifted it above her head and blindly tossed it over her shoulder.

The garment ended up in the band's section of the room, right beside the stage, hooking itself on a cello player's instrument. Laughter trickled amongst the room's inhabitants. Though it was quickly overshadowed by a shocking new change.

You could practically taste the lust in the air, heavy with the scent of sweat and arousal. Kyle found himself uttering a low groan, and he wasn't surprised to hear it echo from others as well.

Back still facing them, it was evident from the lack of band that Calypso hadn't been wearing a bra from the beginning.

Arms crossed over her chest so each hand cupped one of her breasts, she continued the sensual movement of her hips oscillating to and fro.

Her sheer black stockings and lace panties were held together with a garter belt that was decorated in tiny bows, gleaming within the light's attention.

A deep chuckle oozed across the expansion of the room, startling Kyle.

Shifting his weight at the realization that it was Calypso laughing, he was thankful for the dark room. His erection was straining against his pants, and was becoming a problem that needed immediate attention.

Glancing around to make sure that no one would be able to see what he was doing, partially from the fact that everyone was watching Calypso, and that the room was dark enough to conceal his desire.

Kyle discreetly lowered his hand to his clothed cock, stroking it through the fabric as he watched Calypso wiggle her ass to the crowd. Biting his lip to stop from moaning aloud, his face burned with a severe blush as she slowly bent over.

Mumbles of appreciation filled the room, echoing until everyone was groaning when she spread her stance a little further and released her breasts to hook her thumbs into her panties.

Somehow still swaying to the sound of the music, she slowly brought the garment down. Just as her pale white ass was being shown, and Kyle was struggling to not moan even harder, the lights to the beams and stage were cut out.

Frustration echoed throughout the room, Kyle being one of them. Realizing that the club would be closed soon, Calypso's was the last performance of that night, Kyle gathered the glasses before he hurried to leave. He didn't want to explain to his boss that why when the lights turned back on, he had been fondling himself to the talent on stage.

To his relief no one was in the hallways when he headed over to the kitchen, luck surprisingly being on his side for once.

* * *

Breath coming out in short gasps for air, Kyle lingered on the memory of Calypso bent before him.

This time shifting the fantasy so they were in her dressing room once again, with her forced against the vanity as he had his way with her, the force of his thrusts shaking the perfume bottles.

Kyle bit his bottom lip at the thought, remembering the scent of her skin when she had pressed against him. The mouth watering smell of cigarette smoke, vanilla, and something boldly dark.

She was such a tease, she'd watch him over her shoulder, moaning as her heady eyes took in his unravelling.

Unable to keep the loud moans from escaping his lips, Kyle's hips were lifting off of his mattress as his body spasmed to his frantic movements.

Coming undone with a low whine, and utterly consumed with the thought of Calypso, Kyle's climax hit him in a smothering tidal wave.

His cock gushed spouts of warm semen, splattering his chest and tan trembling legs with pearly liquid. The force of his pleasure a shock to himself, and surely anyone else in his apartment building that had awoken to his loud cries. As his stroking began to slow down, he tried to draw out his orgasm as long as possible.

Shuttering one last final time, Kyle finally stopped. Legs still spread apart, he gave a satisfied hum as he realized that on his first day, Calypso had him masturbating to her three times.

Shaking his head in disbelief, all Kyle could remember was trying to catch his breath until he finally and unknowingly fell asleep. But even in his dreams he wasn't safe from those sugared coffee eyes.


	4. Sunny-Side Up

Light hammered against Kyle's eyelids until he opened them, wincing at the incessant brightness of his bedroom.

Groaning at his body worn stiff until it was raw with exhaustion, slowly Kyle dragged himself out of bed.

The fact being that he could stay in bed longer, but since the change in routine was a massive one, his body still automatically awoke at the sound of the city opening its eyes.

He lumbered his way to the bathroom, twisting the knob above the bathtub. It took a few moments, but eventually the shower head rattled until water gushed with a roar. He touched the stream with his fingertips, and immediately flinched at the coldness.

Grumbling to himself, he took a step back, grabbing a cloth that was placed to the side of the tub. Weakly he began to remember the content of his dreams, and after dipping the rag into water just beginning to warm up, Kyle wiped away the seed that had hardened onto his thighs and belly.

It was a bit depressing, having such a powerful orgasm to something deemed fake. Though not Calypso, she was as real as they get, with such a presence that you couldn't help but watch. But the fact they hadn't gotten as nearly close as Kyle fantasized about, and he was unsure how to feel about that.

Especially since his cravings had gotten worse over the years. Of course he had shared kisses with girls his age, fumbling with their practices in usually ill lit rooms away from any adults. And yet those never satisfied him, and instead he increasingly longed for someone with the shape as his own gender. Which is why he was so confused at his heavy arousal of Calypso.

Why did he find her attractive and not the many girls his mother paraded in front of him, or perhaps the ones she had written about? All apparently very beautiful and Jewish.

Sighing, Kyle stepped into the shower and began to wash off the sweat and sin from last night.

* * *

Clean from the shower and freshly shaved, Kyle made his way down the winding steps that led from his apartment and down to the lobby of the building. The weather was still a nuisance, so Kyle was forced to wear a wool sweater over his white dress shirt and grey slacks, thankful that he had enough sense to bring his coat this morning.

As soon as he entered the lobby, the scent of freshly ground coffee wafted from Mrs. Mona Leva's tea cup, which cracked flowery surface was dangerously close to falling off of the landlady's desk.

"Ah, Mr. Broflovski" Mrs. Leva greeted with a pleased grin, dark eyes near black lightened at the sight of him.

"Good morning" Kyle mumbled, stifling a yawn as he approached.

"How was work, not too hard on you?"

Kyle shrugged, far more content with staring at the rain that pattered against the windows. Eventually he found the words to mumble, "It had its ups and downs."

"Ah" Mrs. Leva chuckled, leaning forward to grab her teacup as she appraised him. Kyle shifted his weight at the sight of her knowing smile, keen to look anywhere else. After nodding once, the greying landlady inquired "So, who is she?"

Kyle sputtered, appearing affronted at the mere suggestion.

Satisfied with the reaction, Mrs. Leva finally leaned back, content to sip at her coffee with a sly smirk.

It took a minute for Kyle to clear his throat even to say, "Right well, I'm heading off to the grocery." A flicker of a smile passed by his lips as he headed to the front doors, eager to escape the sneaky ways of the building's owner.

"Wait!"

Reluctantly Kyle turned around.

"You had a phone call."

"A phone call? From who?"

Mrs. Leva cleared her throat, chewed fingernails tapping her desk. It was a tense second, but eventually the aging woman remembered the conversation she had.

"Young fellow, he wanted to let you know not to come in tonight. He said it'd be easier if you talked, so he left his phone number."

Confused and flustered, Kyle sifted a hand through his thick russet hair. "Alright, where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"The _phone number_ , Mona."

"Ah! I wrote it down." Standing up from her chair, she turned to the dresser behind her. Kyle patiently waited as Mrs. Leva rummaged through the drawers and shifted a stack of papers until she found a small scrap. With a satisfied smile, she withdrew the piece and shut the drawer, turning around to slide the paper across the wood of her desk.

Kyle plucked it up, studying it. His gaze rose, "Thanks again, Mrs. Leva."

Accepting the gratitude with a smile, Mona lazily resat herself as her tenant pocketed the note and left the lobby to its lonesome. Front doors slamming shut.

* * *

Rain viciously pelted Kyle's face, similar to that aggressive kid that whipped icy snowballs at unsuspecting children.

 _I thought I saw a phone booth down the street_ , Kyle thought to himself with a squint. The wind howled in response, like a dog left out in the cold.

Collar upturned at the powerful gusts of chilled air, Kyle hunched his shoulders and firmly stomped his way down the slick streets. Like a beacon it eventually was spotted in the horizon, paint chipped from the constant gruesome weather.

Gripping the knob when close enough, Kyle twisted the cold surface and rushed inside. The interior of the booth didn't offer much comfort from the frigid temperatures, but it did keep the fat droplets of rain at bay. Slipping the receiver between his ear and shoulder, Kyle was well aware of the streams of liquid that cascaded down the fogged window panes.

Fingers numb, he removed the note and began to slip a few rusty coins into the telephone slot. A crackle filled his ear before a dull voice intoned, "Operator for branch 237."

"Hello, I need you to place a call to..." he narrowed his eyes as he repeated the smudged numbers.

"One moment." Over the line he could hear a muted clicking sound and plugs being pulled. Moments later, a groggy voice uttered a deep, "Who is this?"

"It's Kyle, you called for me earlier?"

"Kyle?" The voice on the other side grumbled for a minute, "Oh! Broflovsky. What the fuck do you think you're doing calling at...8 am?! Are you out of your _mind?!_ "

"Broflovski." Kyle corrected, "Did I wake you up, Robert? I only called to figure out what you meant about not working today?"

The man on the other side let out a lengthy groan, " _Finnnnneeeee_. The boss decided it, something about a business meeting. I can't get into the specifics, because I don't know them. Only a few of the staff were allowed to stay, but only to keep things tidy and civil."

"So that means everyone has the day off?"

"Yeah, that's what I just said."

"Oh, okay. I guess I'll have to think of something to do today...I don't really know the city."

"You're kidding me, how long have you been here?"

"Five months." There was a pause, enough that Kyle thought they'd been disconnected, but then Robert started talking again.

"Okay, look. How about later I show you around the place? Like your own personal tour guide. How does that sound?"

"I...are you sure?"

"If I wasn't sure, would I ask?"

Kyle snorted, "Then fine, where should we meet?"

"You know June Street?" Kyle hummed, "Okay, good. There's a corner cafe called the Thistle, we'll meet there."

"Okay, I'll s-" The line went dead. Kyle moved the receiver from his ear, blankly blinking at it as he muttered out, "...see you there...Asshole."

* * *

The hissing sound of a frying pan on the stove filtered through, the backdrop to an egg being cracked against a counter before the yolk was spilled into its oily metal containment, along with the rest of its kin. Five in total. Smoke curled away from the cooking eggs, ashy lines in the kitchen air.

Standing before the heated appliance was a dark skinned man, naked besides the trousers he had lazily pulled on, zipper still undone. He stifled a sudden yawn, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he reached for the pepper grinder on the nearby slab of granite.

This gentleman felt quite at ease in this room, being a typical chef at the _Garden of Eden_. He twisted the metal cylinder above the food, sending black flakes down. Satisfied with the amount, he set the device to the side, and grabbed his spatula once again.

Yesterday everything had been happening as it always did at the jazz club, people were getting drunk, gambling, visiting the private entertainers, and he had cooked nonstop for the masses. And not unlike those many times, he took the extra time to whip up Calypso a dinner, dessert, and finally a midnight snack. If not, he was more than aware of the chaos that would be caused. That would be his fault.

But sometimes, his creations were appreciated at greater length. Hence why he was here, adding the eggs to his meal made up of toast, sausages, bacon, and fresh brewed coffee.

Far from the kitchen, in a completely separate room, two figures were splayed across the length of a king sized bed. A mysterious brunette, and a young actress soaring to new-found heights in the film industry, and yet both were asleep. The windows were cracked open, leaving the sheer pale curtains to flutter from the wind, and rain to drip onto the exposed floorboards.

The room was monotone, with a blanket that matched the rest of the pearly layers that made up the bed. The furniture was minimal and dark, a contrast that was even more evident with the lack of colour. A tempting shade of red lipstick was smeared on skin, on the edge of a pillow where it had been bitten, and the sheets. Quite similar, a painting was hung above the frame, an exquisite liveliness. Something that only seemed to occur when colours were involved, which immediately drew attention when entering the room.

The landscape was Chicago itself, a sheer black image that acted as a mirror to an almost breathing place. Though the object was only made up of canvas, oil paint, and skill, it was simply _more_. As if you could walk through and be transported into a busy life of the city. Night and its stars were bright along the sky, though they were comparatively mute to the blinding streets. Windows, signs, fixtures, buildings, and people were aflame.

It was _riveting_.

Movement within the bed stirred. Thick eyelashes brushed against cheeks as two brown orbs were exposed, weakly blinking at first.

Eric rolled over, stretching out his chubby form within the space of his spacious and heavenly bed. Not unlike the pillow under the attractive blonde woman's head beside him, his body was covered in now dry lipstick and bite marks. While some may be self conscious of such markings, he bore them like war paint, unabashed as he peeled the layers of blankets from himself. A yawn rumbled throughout the room and leaked into the hallway, sounding like a bear resided in the house.

Heavy footsteps echoed, only growing louder and louder until they arrived into the kitchen. Subconsciously the chef nudged the mug filled with coffee, which had as instructed a plentiful amount of cream and sugar, with his fingertips.

Inconclusive mumblings were faint, almost unheard over the stove as Eric stalked to the counter. Light was constantly filtering through the open space, casting an almost angelic glow about. Confident, Eric's bare bottom was warmed by the rays. Since the house was shockingly empty, no one could comment on his nakedness, though the chef's eyes appreciatively wandered for a moment before he remembered to flip the eggs. And honestly, if a crowd had been present, no one would have pointed it out either.

Grasping his mug, Eric took a small sip. Rich flavour swirling on his tongue and down his throat as he swallowed the coffee, Eric gave a content nod before he left. Making sure to slap the ass of the chef as he walked past him.

He'd much rather stay in bed, but the nagging of work was tiresomely important, and he rose to answer its call.


	5. The Navy Pier

_Ring rinnnnggg_

Droplets of rain were flung when he shook his head, landing onto dark hardwood flooring and immediately the transparent liquid became invisible against it. It seemed like every store in this city had a rigged bell to the door frame, something that was eager to alert the owners of any possible patrons.

All of the windows were open, letting the cold air seep inside, which no one seemed to care about.

Kyle brushed his hair back, the water just enough to act as a makeshift gel solution. A few curls popped from the sides, dangling stubbornly as he surveyed his surroundings.

Everything had a used look to it, when things broke and instead of being thrown away, were found another use. The seats were ugly, with patches of mismatched fabric sewn over rips and tears. Some chair legs were scruffy, either a different shade of colour or type of wood. The entirety of this store was dim and dusty, having a barely scrubbed look to it. And yet despite of its lack of elegance or tidy demeanor, the cafe was filled to the brim with customers.

The door was constantly revolving, if people couldn't find a table to sit down at, they stood along the walls, and when that didn't work they filed out like wandering ducks.

It was mystifying, and more than once Kyle had to utter an apology as he stepped out of someone's path.

He shrugged out of his soaked coat, folding it over his bent arm as he began to search for Robert.

He was mindful as he walked that his shoes tracked dirt where he stepped, and the realization of such had him cringing.

"Broflovsky!"

Kyle rolled his eyes, turning around to find a hand waving at him. A smile was slow to cross his face as he approached it, only hoping to get some warm coffee and grub into his belly.

"Robert," he greeted, taking his place at the other side of the table, "you showed rather quickly."

The lanky brunette shrugged, "I've been here my whole life, I know all the shortcuts."

Kyle hung his garment on the back of his chair, wincing when a wet spot touched his sweater, "You'll have to show me sometime."

"Maybe. I hope you don't mind, but I already ordered for us. A hot cup of joe and some blueberry pancakes."

"Sounds good." While Robert watched the commotion of people entering and leaving by the front door, Kyle took the time to appraise his co-worker.

For once Robert's hair wasn't styled with tonic, instead he had the look of someone just waking up, which in this case was accurate. Free from any product, his wavy locks were golden bronze, similar to the stubble that started to grow on his chin. They were sharp looking, like bristles on a porcupine.

His crossed arms leaned upon the table, lazy and carefree. Oddly it made it intimate, like the two of them had been friends for a long time. Kyle wasn't sure if he could look so comfortable.

After the war there had been a lot of hardships and restrictions, things which the populace still suffered from. Even the fashion industry had taken its tolls, it was an issue to buy anything new. But when the war came to a close, somethings lingered longer than others. It was common to find civilians wearing military clothing, whether they served or not.

Robert's gave the impression that they were pre-war, with brown suspenders over a faded white collared dress shirt, and a dark navy tie with little white anchors on it. He couldn't see the other man's pants from under the table, but he figured that they'd look just as washed out in colour.

Suddenly Robert's eyes slid back down to catch his own, questioning the fixation on him. Kyle let himself stare for only a second longer, abashedly peeling his gaze away to the table. Those eyes had been a peculiar shade of grey, like stones left on a riverbed with specks of pale green.

There was no need for an awkward bout to stretch between them, but Kyle couldn't think of anything to say. They remained silent even when their breakfast arrived, the bubbly waitress slipping their plates onto the table. She returned only to carry over their mugs, steam rising from the porcelain glass in grand plumes. Without any hesitation they started to eat.

Kyle thoughtfully sipped his coffee to swallow a particularly large chunk of pancake before he addressed Robert, "You don't mind the weather?"

"Hmm?" Robert glanced up.

He waved his hand, "You don't have a coat with you."

"Ah," Robert flashed him a smile as he fiddled with his fork, "I'm not that crazy. There's a rack near the front, I just didn't want my clothes wet."

Kyle's face warmed, self conscious of where the water had soaked through his sweater. Whether he was bored with the topic or pitied the young man, Robert didn't elaborate, he only changed the subject with a swiftness that Kyle appreciated.

"Is there anything special you wanted to see?"

"I, uh, I always wanted to see some historical architecture. For instance, the Rookery Building."

The hand that moved that sticky fork paused. Robert fixed a curious eye to his companion, "Old Rookery? Why would you want to visit that pigeon nest? Look, if you want to lumber around like an elderly tourist, that's fine. But if you want to see the real Chicago, without the polish, I know exactly where to go."

A minute was shared between the two as Kyle digested this offer, and the pancakes. The idea was turned around in his head, each side weighed until he asked, "Okay. How long until we can start?"

A grin stretched across Robert's face as he fished in his trouser pockets and placed a few dollars on the table, "We can do it right now."

* * *

In the late part of the morning, the Garden of Eden stretched the bonds of the term, _silence_. To use any synonym, whether it is, mute, speechless, quiet, or still, it couldn't be compared to what transpired in that instance.

Mice though known to be soundless creatures, wouldn't dare stir in the closed building. Not when Eric was seated at a table, eating a snack. No one would, they cared for their lives far too much.

Soft chocolate ice cream was lavishly scooped from a small bowl, something that even a teacup was bigger than. Such delicacies were hard to come by, at least during these times. Sighing gently, Eric spooned another glob of ice cream into his awaiting mouth.

Earlier that day a large table had been carried into the main room, along with matching high backed chairs. These things then had to be reorganized to appear more sophisticated. At the head of the slab of red cedar wood sat Eric, outlined in the morning light.

There was three clusters of people there, behind, beside, or across from Eric. The people behind the brunette were constantly moving, doing insignificant tasks that hardly needed attention, but they'd much rather wipe down the glasses for the fifteenth time then appear to not be working.

With a loud clatter, Eric set his spoon down in the bowl. After his throat had been significantly cleared, his attention was directed at the group seated across from him, all of which wore well tailored zoot suits. Pinstripes was the constant theme among them, though admittedly their clothing was dusty on the cuffs of their shirts and pant hems.

A state of unkempt that the Garden of Eden's owner would never be caught dead in, if he was at all messy in appearance, it was done so fashionably.

He let his eyes skim over these details with a sniff of disgust, letting his visitors bristle with the message behind the sound.

"Let's get this over with" Eric sighed, the corners of his lips tugging as a familiar ebony form walked up to his side, leaning slightly to place a steaming cup of coffee at his elbow. His chef's face was schooled in a determined blank expression, even when Eric slipped his left hand under the desk to grasp his bottom. The only thing that gave him away was the beginning of a flush on his cheeks and the tops of his ears, "I had to unfortunately get out of bed for this nonsense."

That hand lingered for a second, squeezing with promise, until it was reluctantly removed. He made sure to catch the other's eye as he left.

"I apologize deeply sir, but I assure you that this meeting is necessary."

Before another sigh could worm itself from his lips, Eric sipped from his cup, letting the searingly hot liquid warm his body. Listlessly, he leaned his chin on his hand, propped up only by his elbow.

Mr. Capello was an old associate, a man that knew the business side of things well, and was quite accustomed to the punishments of it. He was naturally a nervous man, someone who's hands were constantly clasped together as he anxiously awaited the verdict of any condemnation. Maybe there was a reason why he always expected a negative outcome, Eric wasn't sure and never cared enough to ask.

The only thing left of colour to his hair was the grey that peppered the edges, the tops of his locks had long since been white, like the fluff on a dandelion. His skin was better off, etched deeply into the weathered surface with wrinkles and the bags under his eyes, enough to make his face an awaiting skull.

It was good to send Mr. Capello, he was nonthreatening by himself. The boy seated on the edge of the group, on the other hand, was a different story. Ignacio. Eric heard of him from only whispered complaints, how he'd been bullying the brunette's employees, threatening broken bones if his desires weren't met.

And here he sat, glaring at Eric as if it was below him to be seated at the same table. The truth about Ignacio was that he was a nobody, the dog shit that someone stepped in. The only reason he got this far was his great uncle, the brother to Mr. Capello. Not to diminish the fact that their family was old, not the oldest that Eric dealt with, but still had a proud lineage behind them. For Ignacio, this was enough.

A seventeen year old that used too much grease to slick back his hair, dabbed himself with the expensive cologne he stole from his grandfather, and dressed in the pits of fashion. The world was his oyster, that much was obvious to him, just not to everyone else.

He was explosive, ready to erupt with fury at the slightest of provocation.

Eric was sure everyone had hurriedly hissed into his ear before they stepped inside, things along the lines of:

 _Don't go running your mouth, Ignacio._

 _This is an important meeting, HE'S important._

and/or _We don't want to cause any offence, so keep your mouth shut and your head low..._

It was apparent the advice was ignored, with every half second his mouth cracked open to say something, but quickly someone always intervened to pinch his side. This sent the curses swirling back down, boiling the hatred for moments longer.

Finally Eric peeled his gaze away from the fuming teenager, tuning back into Mr. Capello's ramblings.

"...We are aware there has been talk about...incidents at the factories, and we just wanted to express our sorrows that they have occurred at all." The silence around Ignacio deepened.

"And to assure that this will never happen again, and if there is someway we can re-"

"That's the thing," Eric interrupted, placing his now empty cup to the side, where it was promptly collected. Sadly, Eric noted, not by the chef. "These _incidents_ , as you've so eloquently put it, shouldn't have happened in the first place."

A breathless gap stretched around the room, "You being aware of _your_ mistakes means nothing to me, and certainly not to those hurt." He gestured to his own staff, those that had been stiffly and wordlessly seated to the side of the table. They were the ones in charge of the factories, and had well dealt with the abuse of self righteous Capellos.

"I respect you, Eddie." Eric made sure his eyes were locked on Mr. Capello, forcing him to watch the irritation lurk just underneath the surface. "You know that, right?" Eddie nodded.

"I say this because if it were anyone else begging for forgiveness on my doorstep, I wouldn't give a rat's ass, but for you I'll offer a second chance." He finally let his eyes slid over to Ignacio as he said, "But first there's some sloppy loose ends you need to clear up, otherwise, there'll be some issues in the future."

"I...I understand, Mr. Cartman."

Eric sniffed, tapping the wood for another coffee as he surveyed the room. Footsteps crept away with the request and off to the kitchen, where the clatter of the kettle being put on the stove, echoed.

"Good. And on top of that you're going to pay for the hospital bills, make sure that everyone is taken care of. When you're finished, we'll discuss continuing together. We're done here." Eric waved his hand, shooing his visitors away.

There was a pause, but the men rose to their feet.

A bitter acceptance was present, one where they were forced to swallow these terms down. To not, would be far more disastrous than hurt pride. And of course, the one to be defiant was Ignacio.

He had been drawn tense by every sentence that came from Eric's mouth, and at the end, he couldn't contain himself.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" He pushed his chair back with enough force that it crashed onto the ground, causing everyone to flinch with surprise. Everyone but Eric, he expected nothing less.

Flushed with fury and embarrassment, Ignacio evaded the hands that wished to pull him back. He didn't stop until he was right next to the stoic brunette, face several shades darker as he screamed slur after slur.

"Why are we taking orders from this...this... _figlio un cane?!_ He should be crying with thankfulness that we even grace his fat presence!" To emphasis his point, Ignacio collected all of the saliva from the back of his throat with an appalling sound, before he spat. The glob landed with a splatter just under Eric's right eye, and the impact was enough to have Eric's eyes narrowing.

Silence.

No one dared speak, much less breathe. And then slowly, Eric stood up. His chair scrapped the floorboards with a vicious sound, entirely grating on the ears. A heartbeat later, arms were wound around the boy, getting away with squeezing harder than usual. No one would say anything, not even the Capello family, the shame had stolen their voices away.

Still shouting curses, Ignacio was dragged towards the back exit, where he'd be taken care of. Just before they reached the door, Eddie spoke out, voice wavering as he said "Please, Mr. Cartman. I know he's an idiot, but he's my only grandson. Don't...don't kill him!"

The muscle in Eric's jaw twitched, and everyone stilled with baited breath.

"Fine." He grounded out, "I won't have him beaten to death, no matter how tempting." He gripped the lip of the table until it groaned from the pressure, knuckles stark white as he exhaled heavily from his nose.

"But if I _ever_ see or hear about him again...you'll _all_ suffer." He let that hang in the air. He released his grip and sat down, letting this action set everyone back into motion, like puppets having their strings yanked.

Mr. Capello frantically nodded his head, mumbling a series of apologizes until he and the rest of his kind were ushered back out onto the streets. The factory workers were less vocal, knowing to leave while unhurt.

He waited until they left before he reached into his suit's pocket, wiping the spit from his face with an embroidered handkerchief. The mere whisper from him had everyone jumping with fright, "Get me Mr. McCormick."

* * *

"Woah!" Kyle cried, watching as the waves crashed against the pier, sending thick sprays of frigid water against the wood.

"What!?" Robert yelled back, deafened from the sound.

Kyle shook his head, chuckling under his breath as he turned back to the aquatic scene. Robert had been true to his word, taking him to the Chicago that few visitors got to see. He had been stuffed full of deep-dish pizza and other food, until he felt like vomiting. Everyone had welcomed him with at first suspicion, but after Robert's stamp of approval, he was greeted like a long lost son.

The buildings and towers that loomed within the city, were silver and grey sentinels. While the awnings over the stores were sanctuary, places where Robert and Kyle could duck under to escape the rain.

He wondered imploringly what Calypso was doing at this moment, was _she_ sharing the same view? Or did her thoughts linger on him, like his always seemed to do? The wind howled, brushing back his russet curls with insistent fingertips. The colour was the only on the pier, and with the fog in the distance, Kyle's hair was a beacon in the dismal weather.

Another wave bounded towards them, and his eyes watered from the intensity. Deep within himself, Kyle wasn't sure if he was going crazy from love or lust, but he thought he heard her name being whispered among the waves.

 _Calypso…_

It beckoned him unlike any other, and in the bottom of his nervous stomach, he knew he could drown in the sound.


	6. Icing Sugar

Loud moans punctured the air, shrill and impossible to ignore. They wavered, volume rising and lowering as if someone was conducting a symphony. It would have been amazing, if they weren't so embarrassed and if not feeling guilty.

A man not important enough to know by name, merely a pawn of a background character, was shoved forward by his co-workers. Neither of them warranted a name either.

They stood in a dingy hallway, shifting their weight as they huddled around a particular door. The shoved man cast a glare back at his friends, upset that he had to do it. He sighed, hitting the wood hard with his knuckles. It was hit trice, enough to have the hallway inhabitants nervous.

" _Yes!_ Yes, don't stop!"

He coughed, awkwardly turning around, "Maybe he isn't home...?" His sheepish smile wilted from their harsh glares, and reluctantly he hit the door again. Harder this time, until his hand ached.

"O-Ooh-" Pitying the younger member of their crew, one of the older men took a step forward, interrupting the moaning by bellowing "McCormick, we know you're there! Come out!"

It was like someone had placed a wine glass over them, silencing all sound in a startling noise of clarity. They had to wait for a few minutes, keenly listening to things being tossed around, a muffled whispering, then finally footsteps heading to the door and unlocking it.

They cleared their throats, eyeing the woman that peered at them through a slit of opened door.

"What do you want?" She snapped, curly blonde hair spilling into waves, almost hiding two large hazel eyes filled with dignified anger. She had quickly slipped into a floral satin robe, which was haphazardly tied together. They tried not to stare.

"Ma'am, we need to see Mr. McCormick."

She leaned back, expression stony, "Ain't heard of that name before." The door that went to be closed was cut off by a firm grip, forcing it back.

"Look, sweetheart. We're trying to be polite, so cut us some slack. Cartman sent us."

Her eyes widened, and conflict clouded her features. Just as she opened her mouth, someone called from within the apartment. She paused, chewing on her bottom lip, but she eventually opened the door. Standing to the side as they entered, and shutting it quickly behind them.

They found him in the bedroom, wearing nothing but trousers, the suspenders to which hung loosely from the sides. He glanced up to them, slipping his shoes on. There was a thin layer of sweat on him, accompanying the flushed appearance of his skin.

"I thought I recognized your voices. What, he couldn't wait until later?"

"You know how he is."

Kenny laughed, and everyone relaxed. Some had worked alongside him, but all held respect for this man. He absently waved his hand, smiling when he was offered a smoke. Gladly he accepted it, slipping the cigarette into his mouth and leaning forward. It was lite for him, everyone watching as he heavily inhaled until his lungs burned. It spilled forth from his lips, grey curls that danced upon sex soaked air.

"Alright," he sighed, climbing to his feet and picking his shirt and jacket from the floor. He'd put them on in the car, "let's see what he wants." They all filed out, tension resolved. On his way out he darted over to Bebe, who glared from her position against the living room couch. He swooped down, brushing back a lock of hair as he kissed her. Breaking away, he flashed her a smile, "I'll be back."

Bebe pursed her lips, teasingly frowning as she said, "And the door may be locked."

"Ouch." Kenny jokingly winced, "Ice queen strikes again." He ducked as she moved to swat at his head, hurrying to join Cartman's goon squad. Doubt chased after him, he knew she was getting sick of being left home alone. Maybe she'd get bored with staring at the clock, and find herself someone new. He forced himself to smile wider, to the point where it hurt.

* * *

"You're kidding me, is this some joke?"

The middle-aged woman Kyle was talking to rolled her eyes, chopping a carrot into tiny slices. "Look, you're new here. Someone must have told you how things were going to be, you do odd jobs here and there. It isn't a big deal."

"Not a big deal? I got called on my day off to..." He squinted at the slip of paper in his hand, "buy some sweets?"

"Look, Broflovsky."

" _Broflovski_." Kyle corrected, grinding his teeth.

"Whatever. You're new, _that's it_. You could be asked to perform while you're taking your last breath, to shake that ass of yours in front of a crowd of drunks, and you'd have to do it. Why? Because this is the _Garden of Eden_." Her eyes squinted, eyeliner smudged as she fixed a tired eye on him. "This isn't amateur hour, kid. You have to work today? _Boo-fucking-hoo_ , I've been making meals since last night. When do I get a break, huh?"

"I.." Kyle's eyes darted to the knife she started waving around, slowly taking a step back. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Yeah, you should be fucking sorry, you ungrateful-"

" _Jane_."

Both of their heads swivelled to see a man standing in the kitchen door frame, frown enough to have Jane grimacing. Dark skinned, he was tall and firm, dressed in a white buttoned up shirt which was tucked into his black slacks. An apron was tied at the waist, meaning he fit extremely well with the culinary atmosphere. Or what remained of it. "Put that knife down." _Clatter_ "Good, now go take a nap out back. I'll cover for you."

Taken aback, Kyle blinked as Jane left the room, sullenly mumbling out an apology as she walked past this mysterious man.

"Kyle, right? Kyle Broflovski?"

"Yes, that's me." Oh he was good, immediately he liked this man. "And you are...?"

Chuckling, he approached Kyle and offered his hand, "Token Black." They shook hands.

"Have we met before?" Kyle was trying desperately not to think about how warm Token's hand was, over how tight his grip was.

"No, but news flies quickly here. Faster than a paper airplane."

Kyle's face broke out into a grin, "Well, if knowing my name helps prevent being stabbed. I should put my face on a milk carton. By the way, thanks for that."

Token laughed, finally releasing Kyle's hand. "It was no problem, we have to look after one another in this joint."

"And that happens often here...?"

"Smooth. Not usually." Token headed over to the counter, finishing up with cutting the carrot. "A lot of people respect the name behind the club, so not a lot of trouble gets stirred up."

"Unless it's the staff..."

Token glanced at him, raising a brow as he continued smiling, "They're usually relaxed as well, Kyle. Can I call you Kyle?" His worry disappeared when his red haired company nodded. "Anyway, everyone has their pressure points, Kyle. Jane's just happens to be sleep deprivation, trust me, she tends to be the sweetest person you'll ever meet on most days."

"Most days." Kyle mumbled, getting bored with this conversation. Quickly he changed the topic, "How about you, Token? What are your pressure points? You seem pretty relaxed about saving me from a horrific death."

He shrugged, "I'm used to it, taking over for people. Blending in, being anyone or anything."

"Anything...?"

Token cast a glance back at him, "Don't sound so shocked, Kyle. I started at the bottom tier too, you get pulled in every direction."

Kyle couldn't deny he was right, "And you're still doing everyone's bidding? Isn't it tiresome?"

"What can I say, I like helping out. Sometimes being ordered around is necessary, it's important to be apart of a tea-Shit!" Both watched as a piece of carrot fell onto the ground, rolling off somewhere. Shaking his head, Token set the knife down, and bent onto the floor.

"Are you okay?" Kyle took a step forward, alarmed by the sharp inhale coming from Token.

"I'm..." Kyle watched as the back of Token's neck began to flush, "I'm alright. Just a little sore from last night, it...it was eventful. I'll be fine, I just need a minute."

"That must have been a hell of a night."

"You," Token unsteadily climbed to his feet, "have no idea. I'm still sore all over. Sorry. Too much information?"

"Nah, I'm fine. I was just-"

"Worried?" Token smiled." See? You'll fit in fine. Before you know it, you'll be in my shoes."

Kyle laughed, "Yeah I hope not, it looks like you took a real tough beating." His eyes flickered to the clock hanging on the far wall, "Besides, I think I should head out and do this delivery."

"Good luck. It was nice meeting you, Kyle."

"You too." Feeling a bit confused, he left, half listening as Token started to hum a familiar tune.

* * *

Eric stared at his reflection, applying a ruby shade of lipstick to his pursed mouth. He rolled his eyes at the knocking, full eyelashes lowering as he pouted.

Pausing in his movements, he sighed. "Come in." He finished up painting his bottom lip, smacking when Kenny entered the room. "Look who it is," Eric crooned, "crawling up on my doorstep."

" _You_ called me here."

Eric turned around, waving the two men that stood behind Kenny away. "Why the attitude? I thought we were friends?"

"I was busy."

"Oh." Eric shrugged, "Well you know I respect your relationship with _her_ , but I called you for a reason. Not just for you to zip my dress up."

"You didn't?" He let his gaze sweep up his friend.

Eric's eyes narrowed, "I don't need your sass."

There was a pause, a gap in which Kenny realized he wasn't on solid ground. Cartman was pissed, for real this time. "What happened?" He asked, taking a step forward.

Spinning back on his cushioned stool, he grabbed a perfumed bottle from the vanity. Lightly misting his wrists and his neck, "Oh the usual, pathetic worms tried to backstab me. And oh that's right, I got _spat_ on."

Kenny sucked in his breath, "Who-"

"It doesn't matter, I dealt with it. What I need you for is a little detective work."

He fought the desire to sneeze, the perfume smelt of island fruit. Pineapple, bananas, and coconut. Not a usual smell you find on Chicago's streets. He was really playing into this whole Calypso deal. "And you need to be dressed up for that?"

Eric met his stare in the mirror, "The reason I'm dolled up is none of your concern. Got it? I gave you your task."

"Er-" He caught himself, "Calypso. What is this about?"

Patting the chestnut locks of his wig down, Eric scowled. Eventually his features softened, "I have digging of my own that needs to be done. Something that I'd rather do myself, but not as me. If you're good..." Eric smirked, "Maybe I'll tell you."

"Something tells me that maybe I'd prefer not knowing."

Chuckling, Eric stood up, "Maybe. Now hurry up and zip up my back, I have places to be."

"Yes, Ma'am." Purposely he took longer than necessary, letting his hands lingered.

Eric snorted, "Unless you want two stumps, I'd pick up the pace."

"My life is filled with ice queens." Kenny sighed aloud.


	7. Two Hot Buns

There was something tangible in the air, something... _miserable_. It coated the city in thick layers, as if a giant painter hovered above the streets, splashing the buildings and people with a flick of his paintbrush. It was unavoidable, being soaked in the rain.

Kyle's teeth chattered, rattling his skull as he forced his way down the sidewalk. The cellophane liquid doubled as sharp daggers, sinking into his flesh despite his coat. The worse part, and no it wasn't how his clothes weighed a ton, was that he could've been safely home. Instead he was here, dragging himself to a bakery on his day off.

He cursed under his breath, trying to lower his face into the fabric of his collar. The rain had worsened considerably since this morning, its icy touch enough for Kyle to think the skin of his cheeks were peeling.

"All for some sweets," he spat, "when I find that lard ass I'll-" A car sped past, roughly hitting a puddle by the curb. The consequences of such had a wave being launched, effectively dousing the already frustrated young man.

"Fuck!" An old woman across the street from him glared, but he couldn't bring himself to pretend he fucking cared. He was a second from finding that bastard and wringing his neck; his clenched his fists, forcing deep breaths between the shudders that wracked his body.

The only thing that kept him going on was the memory of Token, it was still fresh in his mind. He'd hate for the other man to be disappointed in his failure, partially because Kyle couldn't help but be slightly attracted to him. Okay, he'd wanted to jump Token's bones in the kitchen. He shook his head, he had to stop doing that. Yearning for every guy he met, especially those off limits.

As handsome, intelligent, _perfect_ as Token was, there was something unattainable that he possessed. Hell, he was only being nice to the new guy, nothing more. Kyle absently kicked at a pebble in his path, stuffing his numb hands into his pockets.

Brow furrowing, Kyle raised his head. The rain had his hair plastered to his forehead, curls dangling in his eyes. Past the russet strands, he squinted against the frigid shower. It was annoying how much that upset him, the thought of rejection. And it wasn't like he could be open about how he felt, not one of his kind. He sighed.

The only salvation for his problem was back at the club, entertaining 'suitors' at her leisure. He swallowed back the bitter taste of anger, quelling it with firm stomps. It had water spraying his pants, almost in retaliation, but he chose to ignore the sensation. It was the force that drove him to the destination written on the crumbled paper in his pocket, building near invisible with all of its antiquity and glass. If he hadn't been looking for _Désir et indulgences_ , he'd miss it. The bakery gave off the impression that it happened often.

Not that it was easily forgotten, but that it was a staple monument that the citizens had gotten used to. Respected.

Everything about it was in the shape of rectangles, wood painted a relaxing shade of light green. French words were written on the glass in broad strokes of dark gold, some of which Kyle recognized, mostly in his mother's old recipe books. He tended to do that when he was younger, flip through the pages and hunger for the drawings of food. The air around the bakery smelt of crisp sweet bread, mouth watering.

Kyle paused before the door, casting a glance to the loaves resting in racks before the windows, all a delicious golden brown. He twist the doorknob, eagerly going inside.

The smell was heavy as soon as you stepped through that threshold, enough to cause one to momentarily close their eyes. You could drown in it; it was akin to home. It made Kyle crave his family, to lock that warmth in his chest - let it heat his body and soul. He opened his eyes.

There was two large counters with glass casing, inside were shelves of an array of pastries. From every cake you could think of, to a simple croissant, it was all here. In the corner a record played, mingling with the chatter in the back. Orders being barked, bowls being scraped, dough being rolled out, and constant shuffling.

"Can I help you?"

Kyle flinched at the face that suddenly popped into view. He inadvertently took a step back in shock, embarrassed as the man across from him casually stood up. The baker seemed around the same age, but it was hard to estimate how actually old he was. He shot Kyle a smile, one that immediately set him at ease.

"I'm, uh," he fumbled for the piece of paper, "picking up a delivery for the _Garden of Eden_ …?"

"Oh that..." the baker glanced at the back before offering a sheepish grin, "there was some...delay.."

"Delay?" Kyle blankly repeated.

"Yeah," the baker wiped at the side of his nose, unaware that flour still coated his fingers. It was near impossible for Kyle not to look at the line left behind. "The cinnamon twists just came out of the oven, so they'll have to cool before we can glaze."

Kyle frowned, "How long?"

The other shrugged, "Fifteen minutes; but hey! I can give you something while you wait, a brownie?"

If matters couldn't be changed - he sighed as he approached the counter, "That sounds nice, are you usually this generous, Mr...?"

A chuckle was his response, "Stan Marsh, it's nice to meet you. I guess not, but Poilâne sure is thankful for the business."

"Kyle Broflovski." He leaned forward, hand outstretched. "Pa...oil…?"

"Mr. Poilâne," Stan chuckled, quickly exchanging a handshake. "Better known as my boss."

"Oh." Kyle glanced around. "Not that I want to offend, but do we really buy that often from you?"

Stan shook his head, still smiling. "Just the occasional dessert, it's more about the name behind the purchase than the money." Kyle opened his mouth, confused by that statement. "Now, how does that brownie sound?"

"I…" He gave up with a resigned sigh, "that'd be delightful."

* * *

 _Six minutes earlier_

Smoke slithered from Kenny's mouth, curling around inside the air before slipping out the partially rolled down window. With a dismissive chuckle, he cast a sidelong glance onto the street. A drenched man shot a curse in his direction; Kenny absently inhaled from his cigarette, filling his body to the brim, until his lungs couldn't take it anymore. He coughed around his laughter, the face of the pissed man returning to haunt him.

He shook his head, amused said, "That poor sucker."

God, he wished he was with Bebe, between her gams'. They went on forever, slender and pretty things. Kenny ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. Unfortunately work was calling; he clucked his tongue, grimacing at the road before him.

"This better be worth it," Kenny mumbled.

The shadowy silhouette of his Plymouth, as commonplace as an Italian in a Catholic church, glided down the curve of the road. Making its way from the 'artsy' district of town, to the shrouded block of warehouses.

Most he could tell were running, with thick plumes of smoke being pumped out of the slim chimneys that adorned the brick structures. The scent of such wafted into the Plymouth, dusty and acidic. Kenny cringed as he tapped his cigarette against the steering wheel, uncaring if ash landed on the floor near the brakes.

Here the colours seemed to wash away, going down the drains lining the streets. What was left behind were dull shades of grey, it provided only a terrible migraine. One that you couldn't easily ignore.

He turned onto a private company parking lot, slipping into one of the spots next to the workers. The entirety of such was half empty, after the war a lot of jobs were unfilled. Businesses like this textile factory weren't spared, a fact made worse by no one wanting to buy clothing. It was a crude thing to do, spending money 'lavishly' while others saved resources during the war effort. Even afterwards people were naturally cautious.

After parking, Kenny took a minute in the car, watching the stillness that floated around. Assured that he was in the clear, he rolled his window up before cutting the engine.

He stepped outside, letting his cigarette fall from his fingers and land onto the ground. Already it was turned into mush from the puddle, he ground what was left under his heel.

Mindful of his surroundings, he fished his pockets for another. Palming the metal case that held them, Kenny strolled from the parking lot and down the road, managing to get a cigarette in his mouth as he walked along to an eventual high gated fence. The weather was unforgiving, fighting the blonde with every step. Shoving the case into his coat pocket, he sought shelter in an alleyway. Against a stone wall, he shielded his mouth, cursing around the dangling cigarette.

"C'mon, fucking light!"

The flame on the match wavered, but Kenny was determined. With a sudden sigh of relief, he was taking a heavy drag. Back still to the wall, he peered past the corner, momentarily satisfied. Across from him was a brewery, he squinted, fat rain droplets escaped past the barrier of his clothing and travelled down his spine.

* * *

With a sigh Kyle set his glass of milk down, relishing the taste of chocolate that still lingered on his tongue. Something he'd almost forgotten, how delicious it was. To be honest, he felt slightly guilty about the whole thing, like he was somehow being selfish. When he told Stan he laughed, expression easy going.

He liked that about him, how calm and happy he acted, that the death and destruction from the war never happened. It was hard not to see it, what was lost in the faces of families. Kyle watched as the other man took a large gulp from his own glass, leaving behind a silly milk mustache. He forced a light chuckle, pretending everything was alright.

That was easy around Stan, he had a face that was simple and sweet. Pleasing enough that you could forget, lost in repetitively tracing the line of his jaw and attractiveness behind the slope of his nose. Even his hair reminded Kyle of youth, black hair parted in the common style, but still used only a little tonic to have an individualistic touch. The rest of his outfit was hard to imagine as regular clothing, a plain white shirt tucked into his slacks. The batter stained apron wrapped around his waist was folded in half, showing off the subtle strength in his silhouette. Such as his arms, strong from constantly carrying heavy boxes.

"Kyle, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he glanced away, "you got something on your upper lip…"

"Wha-" Stan's eyes went crossed eyed as he looked down. Finally realizing what Kyle meant, he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. Kyle found himself smiling; Stan sent him a frown, obviously there wasn't any anger behind it.

"I'll be right back," Stan climbed up from his stool, "maybe they've finished glazing."

Kyle hummed, propping his head up with his elbow. Left alone, he wondered what everyone else was doing.

From Robert to Token and eventually Calypso, he welcomed the distraction they brought. His brow furrowed as his thoughts lingered on the entertainer, mind swimming with the image of her on stage. How she drank in the attention of everyone, glowing in the lights. He coughed into his fist, shifting awkwardly in his seated position by the counter.

It was maddening, how so effortlessly she managed to mess with his knowledge about himself. He knew he was gay for the longest time. Which made things even more confusing, with his obvious attraction to the brilliant brunette. Maybe it was a one person deal. Kyle softly cursed; his mother had always bothered him, saying how he would meet a beautiful woman and get married. Even now, she was certain it was about to happen. That just around the corner he'd run into the love of his life, a future _Jewish_ wife.

He doubted Calypso was the soulmate she anticipated, especially with all of her… quirks. Kyle snorted, mind conjuring her bent over.

Moses… He rubbed at the side of his face, she was driving him crazy.

"Kyle" The sound had him jolting upright, just as surprised by his reaction as Stan. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm… I should go, you're pretty busy and all."

Stan frowned, glancing at the empty bakery. "Um, okay…? It was nice meeting you Kyle…" The words fell short, sinking as Kyle buttoned his coat. "Don't make yourself scarce, come back anytime. Delivery or not."

"I…" Kyle paused as he grabbed the brown paper bag held out to him, "I hope we meet again." They lapsed into silence as they shook hands, sharing a smile.

* * *

The rain eased into a drizzle, still retaining its coldness from earlier. Kyle walked down the road, alone despite the cars driving past or the couples that wandered around him. They shared umbrellas as they went by, conversations hushed amongst the rainfall.

Kyle cradled the package under his coat closer to his person, mindful of the contents getting squished. He sighed, footsteps heavy as he made his way towards the club. In the distance, the _Garden of Eden_ 's sign was bright against the grey of the world. The bitten apple as forbidden and tempting as ever.


End file.
